


Not His Father

by RotundBot (DigiC300)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Enemies to Friends, Gen, No beta reader, budding friendship, mention of zevran/warden, more like prisoner to friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:28:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25642066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DigiC300/pseuds/RotundBot
Summary: Nathaniel Howe was prepared to die by the Warden's hands. Perhaps he even wanted it. However, he instead received something he had not expected from him: mercy.
Relationships: Nathaniel Howe & Male Tabris
Kudos: 2





	Not His Father

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!! Hi! This is my first time writing something since middle school like... 9-10 years ago LOL
> 
> So I apologize if it's like. weirdly written in some parts ;;
> 
> Most of the dialogue was taken from the game btw!

Nathaniel was prepared to die when he was tossed into the cell in the dungeon. He was prepared, expecting, to be executed by the man who unjustly murdered his father. The types of executions ran through his head as he sat in the dimly lit stone room. Would he be hanged? No, too simple. Throat slit? Too merciful. Head cut cleanly with a well-sharpened ax? Possibly. Tied to a wooden beam and lit ablaze? Highly likely- it would send a message and example to those who would even dare to set foot into Vigil’s Keep with ill intent, especially if you’re a Howe.

Nathaniel had been in the dungeons for a few days now. On the third day, the guards left their post and he heard the commotion up above, all the fighting, slaughtering, shouting of commands and pain. He felt the ground beneath him shake and stir while hearing a loud yet muffled  **_BOOM_ ** somewhere. He pondered if whoever- whatever- it was that was attacking would come down here and either free him or kill him. How gratifying it would be for the Wardens to not have the satisfaction of killing one of Howe's kin. 

Just as a headache started to form from the noise, all of it stopped. Everything fell eerily silent for a moment, leaving Nathaniel to wonder if they all died. But then there was some muffled talk, the jangle of the doorknob, and heavy footfalls to signal that no, his captors were still alive. A guard appeared from behind the entryway leading into the cells.

"Ah, I see that you're still here," the guard spoke. Nathaniel only glared. "I expected you to escape with all the commotion. Or for a darkspawn to find its way down here." 

_ So that's what happened, _ Nathaniel thought.  _ A darkspawn attack. _ He stayed silent as the guard went on about the attack. How it seemed like hope for the keep was lost until the Warden-Commander- no, Hero of Fereldan- came to the rescue with three others. All he could do was just sit there and listen to them talk on and on. If the Wardens wanted to torture him, this was working.

Eventually, the guard did stop talking, thank the Maker, and turned their back towards him. The silence was only brief, however, as more footsteps were heard. Another set of heavy ones along with a lighter set that would have been hard to detect at all. 

"... took four Grey Wardens just to capture him, ser," a voice, possibly another guard, said. The two finally came into view- one was the typical guard. The other was an elf, dark-skinned with deep brown neck-length hair with possibly a permanent scowl on his face. Tattoos were marked under his eyes near the bridge of his nose, and a single gold earring was on his left ear. He wore what looked like drakescale armor, but not the heavyset he had seen. He could see two blade handles poking from behind his back.

The Hero of Fereldan. His father's murderer.

"You best be careful,” the guard continued. “Whoever he is, he’s no ordinary burglar, that’s for sure." They crossed their arms and slightly bowed to the Murderer before returning to their post, effectively leaving the two alone. Nathaniel glared while the Murderer seemed to have a neutral expression. He couldn’t read what he was thinking. After a moment of silence, he finally spoke.

“If it isn’t the great hero himself,” Nathaniel said, coating each word with venom, “conqueror of the Blight and vanquisher of all evil.” He stands up from the ground and sneers. “Aren’t you supposed to be ten feet tall, with lighting coming out of your eyes?” There was a pause, and he tried to read the Murderer's face. His mouth twitched a bit, as if refusing to move. Other than that, it was stone solid.

“Ah,” The Murderer finally broke the silence. “I see my reputation precedes me.” His tone was a tad monotonous, but a bit high. Weirdly fitting.

“It does. But,” Nathaniel glowered, “I only know you as the man who murdered my father.” The Murderer looked at him curiously now, as if processing the amount of people he had slaughtered up until now. Nathaniel took a wide stance, fists clenched and eyebrows lowered. “I am Nathaniel Howe. My family owned these lands until  _ you _ showed up. Do you even remember my father?” At the mention of Howe, the other’s eyebrows raised slightly in recognition.

“So you’re the arl’s son,” he replied. He seemed almost understanding. “Now it makes sense as to why you are here.” 

Nathaniel’s fists tightened. “My father served the Hero of River Dane and fought against the Orlesians! Yet our family lost  **everything!** I came here…” He paused, his brows furrowed and he turned away. “I thought I was going to try to kill you. To lay a trap for you.” A sigh escapes his lips. “But then I realized I just wanted to reclaim some of my family’s things. It’s… all that I have left.” There was silence once more. He didn’t turn back to see the expression on his father’s murderer’s face.

“Just… how much do you know about your father?” The Murderer asked.

“If you’re asking whether I knew what he was up to,” he replied, crossing his arms but still not turning to face him, “the answer is no. I was squired in the Free Marches during the Blight.” He sighed again and looked back at the Murderer. He still couldn’t read his face.

“Look, I know you’re the hero currently. You fought a war and won, and to the victor go the spoils, right? Whatever my father did, however, shouldn’t harm my whole family. The Howes are pariahs now, at least those that are left.” Nathaniel’s brows furrowed again and he gave a venom-filled smirk. “It’s all thanks to  _ you _ . And now you get to decide my fate.” A shrug. “Ironic, isn’t it.” 

Silence fell between them once more. The only sound that can be heard was the guards in the other room, their armor chiming a bit with each shift. Nathaniel wasn’t sure if they were nervous after what they heard or just weary from having to continuously stand guard.

The Murderer seemed to be lost in thought, however. His eyes narrowed a bit, looking him up and down as if processing. He closed his eyes, and after a long pause, said “I’ve decided what to do with you.” 

“Already?” Nathaniel was surprised. He was expected to be asked more questions. But, it was nice to just get it over with. “Good.” He moved away from the cell door and leaned back against the stone wall. The guard probably heard the Murderer, as he heard movement and the sound of a door opening and closing. A few moments later he heard the door open again and the guard stepped through the opening, along with an older man clad in heavy armor and a greatsword.

“I brought the seneschal for you, commander,” the guard said. They did a light bow once more, and left them alone again. The older man, the seneschal, cleared his throat and kept his eyes on Nathaniel.

“I see you’ve spoken to your guest,” the seneschal said with a smirk. “Quiet the handful, isn’t he? Have you decided what’s to be done with him?”

Nathaniel braced himself. He knew the answer already.  _ Hang him,  _ he thought.  _ He’s too dangerous to live.  _ Or  _ tie him up and set him ablaze. We have to set an example.  _ Or  _ public execution. His head will roll off the- _

“Give him his family’s things and let him go,” the Murderer finally said. 

Nathaniel froze in place, his eyes went wide and his eyebrows raised. “You’re doing  **_what?_ ** ” He said, shocked. He could not believe what he was hearing. The Hero of Fereldan, the man he had heard murdered his father out of cold blood, not only showing mercy by letting him go but was also letting him collect the things he wanted to take. 

“Commander, that’s…” the seneschal was speechless, but quickly raised his tone and creased his brows. “I must object! You want to let a thief keep what he stole?!” The Murderer kept his gaze on Nathaniel and gave a slight nod.

“He’s not his father,” he stated, then gave a steeled look at the heavily-armored man. “Let him go.”

“I…” the seneschal sighed. “Yes, Commander.” He looked back and motioned for the guard to rejoin them. The guard pulled out a set of keys, unlocked and opened the cell door, and motioned for Nathaniel to move.

“You heard the verdict,” they said. “Come with me, so you can… collect your things.” Nathaniel couldn’t will his body to move at first, but soon took slow steps out. He glanced at the Murderer… no, Warden, one last time as he followed the guard out. Despite his facial features being nearly unreadable, Nathaniel saw a bit of sympathy in the Warden's eyes. He still couldn’t wrap his head around it all as he went into Vigil’s Keep, to the old unused rooms.

* * *

Nathaniel took only a few things- mainly things from the old trophy room, heirlooms proudly up on display. The only thing he could not find, no matter how hard the guard allowed him to search, was his grandfather’s bow.

Once he collected those, and his armor and weapons returned to him, Nathaniel made his way to his campsite. It was set far enough to where it would have avoided detection from any guards posted on the ramparts, but still somewhat close to the side of the road. Thankfully, despite that one guard talking about how the darkspawn invaded the keep, his tent was relatively untouched. The tent stood where he had left it, however it looked a little damp. Did it rain while he was locked up? A pile of ashes from when he had a fire the last time he was here darkened the ground. He moved over to a stump with a crack in it and put his hand in it. He felt around until he felt the cloth sack. Thanking the Maker for not letting the animals take it, he pulled out the provision pack and began unpacking some of its contents.

Nathaniel was still trying to wrap his head around what had happened as he sat down next to the ashes of the fire he had when he was last here. Why did the Warden let him go? Why did he spare his life? He thought surely he was going to die by his hands, just like his father.

_ He's not his father. _

He chewed on his hardtack and cheese irritably. Of course he wasn't his father. He used to look up to him as a child, but… he didn't have a lot of love for him before he was sent to the Free Marches. The way his father treated his mother as he grew up was… horrible doesn't begin to describe it. When they sent him to squire under Ser Rodolphe Varley, he thought he was being sent away for good. Maybe he was.

But… his father was the only living family he had left. From what Nathaniel heard about Ostagar, he practically assumed his entire family was wiped out. All except his father, who had fled the field of battle with Loghain.

_ Maybe my father would have accepted me, now that I was the last child alive,  _ Nathaniel thought. 

He'll never know now.

He sighed. All of this shouldn't be in his worries now. He had to figure out what to do now. He had no home to go back to, and he still wanted to save Ser Roldolphe the embarrassment of someone of the Howe name squired under him. Nathaniel could go to Amaranthine, but he had nothing left there. Not only that, but once the people there know who he is they might not be so receptive.

He finished the rest of the hardtack and prepared for rest. He had a long day tomorrow.

* * *

It had been three weeks since Nathaniel left Vigil's Keep. In the first few days, he had started to venture to the ports to return to the Free Marches. Nothing was here for him anymore, and he still had some loose ends to deal with in Kirkwall. However, he never made it to the ports.

That nagging feeling had returned to him, gripping onto him like a vice. His thoughts were plagued of that day.

Of him thinking he was going to die right there at the Keep one way or the other.

Of the screams and blades and death up above while he remained below.

Of the Warden letting him go without much questioning.

_ This shouldn't bother me _ , he thought. He was a free man! He can rebuild his life, start anew. Maybe even drop the Howe surname and think of some different name. So why,  _ why _ does it bother him so that the man who raided his father's keep and murdered him just let him go.

Why.

_ Why. _

  
  
  
  


_ He's not his father. _

  
  
  
  
  


He needs answers.

* * *

On the third week, Nathaniel was stopped by highwaymen outside of an abandoned inn with a well in front and a crumbling, unfinished wall outside the perimeter. The highwaymen wanted 30 sovereigns or his life, so he paid them with arrows through their throats and chests instead. He searched through the bodies, collecting any coin and supplies before pushing them off the road. As he was checking the crates for more supplies, he spotted him.

The elf with dark skin and deep brown shoulder-length hair, with curved tattoos underneath his eyes, donning lightweight drakescale armor and two blades. He is followed by two others that he can only assume were other Wardens- one was an apostate with a feathered robe he remembered seeing as he left Vigil’s Keep, the other was a pale looking man with sunken-in cheeks and weirdly glazed over eyes. They didn’t seem to pay Nathaniel any attention as they walked passed, though the mage seemed to glance over.

“Wait,” Nathaniel called out. That seemed to have made them stop.  _ It’s now or never _ , he thought. He approached the group, the Hero walking passed the other two to meet him.. “I… want to talk to you.” He looked down at the Hero of Fereldan. The apostate eyed him curiously while the pale Warden seemed to have a steeled look.

“You set me free,” Nathaniel began. “Just... let me go, despite what I had said or what I might do.” He sighed irritably. “I want to know why.” Just like before, the Hero’s face was nearly unreadable.

“I’m not looking for a fight with you,” The Hero replied. That wasn’t the answer Nathaniel wanted. In fact, it didn’t even feel like an answer at all. He gave an exasperated sigh and narrowed his eyes.

“Even though I was looking for a fight with you.” All he wanted was a straight answer, just something simple.  _ I felt sorry for you _ or something. Anything. Not a non-answer. Perhaps he’ll never know the answer.

Unless…

He sucked in a breath. He didn’t like the idea much, but what choice did he have?

“Take me with you,” he said. “Make me a Grey Warden.” The mage’s eyes widened in surprise while the pale Warden seemed to glower. The Hero only crossed his arms and tilted his head.

“You’re joking?” The Hero replied in disbelief. 

“I almost can’t believe I’m asking, but I am serious.” Nathaniel steeled his gaze. “Look, I have nowhere else to go. I fully expected to die in that dungeon, maybe I even wanted to. But you let me go.” He moved closer to the Hero now and stared him down. “Make. Me. A Grey Warden. Let me try.” His expression softened a little bit. “Please.”

Silence fell over the group. The Hero looked down at the ground and closed his eyes in thought. The two behind him seem to look between the two of them. The pale Warden's glare seemed to deepen at Nathaniel while the apostate gave sideway glances.

"Very well," the Hero answered, breaking the silence. The two behind him looked at him in disbelief while Nathaniel let out the breath he didn't know he was holding. "We'll see how you fare in the Joining."

"Someone's gonna have a knife in their back," the apostate said, a half-smirk on his face and tone almost playful.

"Are you serious Warden-Commander?" the pale Warden argued. "You'll let a thief join our ranks?" The Hero turned his head towards him.

"He'll still have to survive the Joining," he stated. The pale Warden grumbled and held his head high.

"Do not worry, Warden-Commander," Nathaniel said, putting a hand on one of the Hero's pauldrons as if he's reassuring him. "You have nothing to fear."

* * *

When the group returned to Vigil's Keep, mostly everyone there wasn't welcoming to Nathaniel. Some gave suspicious looks his way, as if they remembered his time in the dungeon. The seneschal looked in disbelief as the Warden-Commander relayed his decision and then soon followed the two to one of the many rooms in the keep.

The Joining wasn't what he expected. The seneschal handed him a big chalice filled with a foul-smelling liquid, instructing him to drink from it after reciting some words. After sucking down the vile contents slowly, visions flashed before his eyes. Darkspawn marching underground, fighting what seemed to be dwarves to the very death. Darkspawn searching deep within ancient thaigs, searching for something down below. The visions soon cleared away, and he soon realized he had collapsed on the ground. The Warden-Commander was nearby, and he helped him get up.

“Welcome to the order,” he said, then led Nathanial, ironically, to his old room.

Over time he got to know his fellow Wardens. The pale Warden that was with the Warden-Commander wasn't in fact a person, but a spirit taking over a rotting corpse simply called Justice. It stuck around to bring justice to the darkspawn that killed the man he is currently possessing and to find a way back to the Fade. The two had butt-heads from time to time, but they eventually came to an understanding.

Anders, the apostate, was intolerable. He would always make some sarcastic comment or terrible joke, practically drool over almost every pretty girl he saw, and whenever he's asked a question he would give a non-answer. Nathaniel had no idea why the Warden-Commander would let him in, but he would never ask.

Then there was Oghren, a dwarf who had ventured with the Warden-Commander during the Blight. He was a disgusting little man who drank some questionable ale, but was an excellent fighter and was decent to talk to when he was sober. Which was rare, honestly.

"You know," Oghren said one time, while they were in the dining hall after dinner, "The Warden-Commander has a habit of inviting people who tried to kill him into his little group."

"The Warden-Commander? Truly?"

"Aye, happened all the time back during the Blight." Oghren chugged more of his ale and slammed the mug down onto the table. "Or maybe it was one time, I can't sodding remember. Though that one seemed to have sneaked his way into him if you know what I mean." He gave a throaty laugh while Nathaniel rolled his eyes. Thank the Maker that the Warden-Commander wasn't here, as he had been whisked back into his duties right after dinner.

There were two others that had joined after he did, though he didn’t talk to them much. Velanna, a Dalish whose clan was killed by the Darkspawn, had given him venom-filled glares whenever he tried to talk to her; and Sigrun, a member of the Legion of the Dead who was unsettling perky for someone who was symbolically dead.

However, the one person he was surprised he got along with well was the Warden-Commander. Around the time Nathaniel had recovered from the Joining, he had seen the painting of his mother hanging up in the throne room. When he told the Warden-Commander about the painting, he listened intently to what he had to say.

One day he had approached Nathaniel with several letters, stamped with a wax seal.

“I found these in the basement,” he said. “I wasn’t sure if you would be interested in them, but I believe they were either from or for someone in your family.” Nathaniel took them graciously and, when he was alone, opened them up. They were his sisters, who were corresponding to a friend in Denerim. Why these were hidden in the basement was a mystery to him, but he had a slight inkling as to who put them there.

When he, the Warden-Commander, Anders, and Justice was about to leave the Keep, he had spotted his old groundskeeper. It was from him that he discovered that his sister Delilah was still alive and in Amaranthine. The Warden-Commander assured him that if they had the time, he would let him go see her.

To Nathaniel’s surprise, the very first stop in Amaranthine was visiting his sister. The Warden-Commander left the two alone to catch up while he and the others did a supply run. During this time, his sister told him all the horrible things their father had done- slaughtering almost all of the Couslands, attempted assassination of the Grey Wardens, unlawful arrests and torture, brutalizing the elves in the Alienage, and plotted a murder of Loghain’s daughter. 

When Nathaniel left his sister’s home, he met back with the Warden-Commander and relayed what he learned. 

“She said Father deserved to die!” He said. “I… I still can’t believe it.” The Warden-Commander tilted his head slightly.

“You don’t believe her?” He asked. Nathaniel furrowed his brow in irritation.

“I thought he had his reasons. It was a war, for Andraste’s sake! Before I went to the Free Marches, he was never…” He trailed off, still trying to process it all. He looked down at the ground, breaking eye contact. “... How could he have changed so much?”

He felt a hand gently placed on his arm.

“It’s not your fault, Nathaniel,” the Warden-Commander replied, his tone soft. For the first time since meeting him, Nathaniel saw his face change- it wasn’t the stone-still scowl like always, but a worried, sympathetic look.

“What if I’d never left?” he mumbled. “I… I didn’t have much of a choice, but still… I wish I’d known some of this sooner. I feel like such a fool.” He took a deep breath and straightened himself. Thank the Maker Anders and Justice weren’t around- he knew for sure he would never hear the end of him exposing his vulnerability during the day. “Now, please… let’s get back to our business. I… need to think.”

With a nod, the Warden-Commander moved his hand away from his arm. The stone-still scowl returned, and Nathaniel now understood that it was just a mask, making him seem more intimidating to others. Anders and Justice soon rejoined the group, the former finding several cat toys for his weird robe-cat.

* * *

Over the course of weeks, their budding friendship grew. Nathaniel told the Warden-Commander about how his grandfather was a Grey Warden, but soon lost contact with him after he left Vigil’s Keep. He mentioned how the one thing he never found when he first returned to the Keep to claim his family's things was the bow his grandfather held.

A few days later, the Warden-Commander pulled him aside and brandished a curved bow, asking if this was it. Nathaniel’s eyes lit up in recognition, seeing the Howe crest burned on the side. He graciously took it, unsure of how to repay him.

Nathaniel soon started to notice as well that the Warden-Commander rarely kept up the unmoving scowl when around him or the other Wardens. When he was forced into more meetings, the mask appeared seamlessly, however, intimidating most of the nobles who came to the Keep to complain.

* * *

It was a cool autumn afternoon, hitting close to evening, when Nathaniel discovered something interesting. After a hard training day out in the training yard, he had noticed the Warden-Commander was nowhere to be found. Normally during training, he would be sparring with either Justice or Sigrun or just overseeing the lot and making sure Anders wasn't slacking off. At the times he wasn't present, the seneschal would have him meet with more nobles in the throne room or be subjected to more written responses. However, Nathaniel soon found the seneschal had not seen the Warden-Commander for some time, despite him having to meet more lords and ladies. Curiosity got the better of him, and he decided to look around.

Nathaniel didn't find him in any of the rooms in the keep, nor was he anywhere outside. It wasn't until he was climbing up to the ramparts that he heard it- the sweet plucking of the strings of an instrument. A lute perhaps? He didn't recognize the song being played. He followed the music up the stairs until he opened the door. Sitting cross-legged in the archers alcove of the walkway against one of the sidewalls was the Warden-Commander. His gaze was on the lute, which took up nearly his entire upper body.

The Warden-Commander hadn't heard Nathaniel's approach, too transfixed on the song. He continued to play each chord, but soon started to slow down. A strum. A melody. A sour note. A frustrated sigh. He reached over to a small leather journal next to him, moving the rock off of it as it was preventing it from being blown open from the autumn winds, and flipped through the pages. Nathaniel leaned against the doorway. He didn't know the Warden could play an instrument, let alone have the time to learn one. Being extremely dexterous seems to be beneficial for it though.

"A musician? That's something I didn't expect from you," Nathaniel said at last. The Warden-Commander swung around fast from where he was sitting, a mix of surprise and frustration on his face. As soon as the Warden saw him, however, he relaxed and sighed.

"Oh," he replied. He shifted a bit to see behind Nathaniel. "Good, it's only you. Thought Vaerel found me to bring me to another meeting.” A pause. “Unless…" Nathaniel shook his head.

"No, the seneschal didn't send me." He moved away from the doorway, closing it behind him. He approached the wall where the Warden-Commander was facing and leaned against it. "Though there are a few nobles down in the throne room with sour expressions." The Warden's eyes narrowed.

"They can learn to wait," he grumbled. He reached over to grab the leather book again. "Not like I'm forced to see them every day."

Silence fell between the two as the Warden-Commander looked through it, fingering through some motions on the lute as he read along. Soon he started to play the song he had played previously, this time from the start. Nathaniel couldn’t put his finger on what type of song it was- it wasn’t anything Fereldan or from the Free Marches. Though if he was honest, he hardly heard any bards perform while he was a squire. Ser Roldolphe hardly allowed for such pleasantries, after all. The Warden continued to play until he started to slow down. His brow furrowed as he strummed a bit, each time a different chord, until he let out a frustrated sigh and returned to the book.

“I haven’t heard that song before,” Nathaniel pondered. The Warden-Commander looked up. “Did you compose that?”

“No, I…” The Warden trailed off. Nathaniel could tell he was thinking before he let out a sigh. “It’s... an Antivan love song. It’s meant for a vihuela, but they don’t sell them here in Fereldan. I had a friend transcribe the song for lute.”

“A love song? I’m going to assume it's for a lover, right?” The Warden nodded.

“He’s currently in Antiva, hunting down Crow agents and Guildmasters.” A pause. “Once the darkspawn have been dealt with here, I plan on joining him there. Since I'm wanted by the Crows, I have to pretend that I'm a bard. I… thought I would surprise him with this song.” 

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. “You’re not going to stay around? I thought you were the Commander of the Grey.” A sigh escaped the Warden’s lips.

“I only took the position because Alista-... another Grey Warden didn’t want it. I understand why now. I can’t stand the nobles. They just can’t wrap their heads around that the people who serve under them  _ are _ people who need food and a roof over their heads.”

“Good thing I’m no longer a noble then?” Nathaniel smirked and the Warden chuckled.

“You could say that.” He soon returned his focus onto the book and light strumming, trying to memorize the lines. Nathaniel watched him play for a little while before he started to fidget. It was still strange, being this relaxed around the Warden-Commander after what had happened when they first met. Back then, he had considered him his enemy, a despicable elf who murdered his father and ruined the Howe name. Now, thanks to both his time with the Grey Wardens and reuniting with Delilah, he may be so bold as to call him a friend. He felt like he had to apologize for how he treated him back then, but he wasn’t sure if now would be a good time to do so or not.

He shook his head- he wasn’t sure when the two would be able to meet one-on-one again like this.

“I… owe you an apology.” He admitted. The Warden paused what he was doing and looked up, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Any specific reason…” the Warden began, but soon shook his head in realization. “No need, it’s fine.”

“There is a need,” Nathaniel responded. “It’s not fine. When I returned from the Free Marches, I was certain my family was destroyed for being on the wrong side of the war.” He narrowed his eyes in annoyance and looked away. “But he did it to himself. No conspiracies, just one stupid, selfish man. I… should have known better.”

“How could you have known?”

“I should have dug deeper  **before** I acted.” A pause. “I was an idiot, and like a child, I blamed you and the Wardens.” He then turned his gaze back, a soft expression on his face. “And here you’ve even proven to be a friend of sorts… or am I reading that wrong, too?”

“No, I would like to be friends,” The Warden responded without missing a beat. Relief washed over Nathaniel.

"Good." 

Silence fell over the two of them. The Warden-Commander glanced down onto the ground, lost in thought. Before Nathaniel could continue, the Warden spoke up.

"I… never really gave you the reason why I let you leave that day," he said. Nathaniel tensed up. He had forgotten that was one of the reasons why he joined the Grey Wardens to begin with. 

"Back when I lived in the Alienage... before the Blight," the Warden continued, "I had a deep hatred for humans and nobles. So much so that it clouded my judgment. It took me most of last year to… break from it. The hate for humans diminished, but I still held ire for nobles." A sigh.

"One of my traveling companions, a fellow Grey Warden, experienced my anger head-on. Despite it all, no matter how much I lashed out, he stayed by my side as a true friend." He paused for a moment, as if formulating how to say what he wanted to say next. "It wasn't until we cured Arl Eamon of his illness that I learned that he was heir to the throne.

"I was… mad at first. I didn't talk to him the entire time we made our way to Denerim. But, during that time I did a lot of thinking. It was then I had realized something: whose blood runs through your veins shouldn't define who you are. I knew Alistair for who he really was: a fellow Grey Warden, a comrade-in-arms, and one of the few who I trust my life with." He looked up from the ground, locking eyes with Nathaniel. "You are not your father. I let you leave because while you may have his blood in your veins, it shouldn't define who you are."

Nathaniel had no idea what to say, trying to process it all. Suddenly what the Warden had said back when they first met finally made sense.

_ He's not his father. _

He wasn't, and he never will. He never will fall into whatever dark hole his father cast himself into, and he will make sure of that. He will make the Howe name something greater than what it was before. And it was all because he was given a second chance by the very man who is sitting in front of him.

"Thank you, Warden-Commander," he replied. The Warden smiled.

"Nathaniel, we're friends," he stated. "You don't have to call me that. Call me Joswen." Nathaniel chuckled.

"Right… apologies. Thank you, Joswen."

He felt the same as he had when he was reunited with his sister. Relief. Gratitude. Closure. 

He looked out past the wall at the sky. It was an orange hue, signifying that night will be coming soon. It was still a beautiful sight to behold. He heard something shift, the sound of wood and drakescale sliding on stone. Soon Joswen was at his side, following his gaze towards the sky and leaning on the wall. They stood there for some time in silence, admiring the view.

"... Did you know that my love and I first met when he tried to put a knife through my throat?" Joswen asked, and the question caught Nathaniel off guard.

"No," Nathaniel replied, "I… Actually, Oghren mentioned something like that."

"Really? Never saw him as much of a gossiper." Nathaniel snorted.

"Please, give that dwarf enough drink and he'd probably spill every secret he heard." That got a laugh out of Joswen.

"Too true." A sincere smile was on him now, which made Nathaniel smile as well. Joswen then recounted how he met his love, who was named Zevran. He then told stories of his adventures, from the Circle to hit horrible experience in the Fade, to his encounter with the werewolves in the Brecilian Forest, and almost contracting the werewolf disease.

He recounted the tales until the moon rose and the sky had darkened. Varel finally found them in the ramparts, irritated that Joswen had shirked his duties as Warden-Commander. Joswen sighed, collecting the lute and music book from the ground. Before he followed the seneschal through the door to possibly write letters of apology to the nobles he avoided today, he turned around to face Nathaniel with a smirk.

“Perhaps next time you can tell me tales of your adventures,” Joswen said. Nathaniel returned the smirk with one of his own.

“I would like that.”


End file.
